


Symptoms of a Concussion Include....

by NeonGriffon



Category: Kick-Ass (2010)
Genre: Gen, Randomocity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 06:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonGriffon/pseuds/NeonGriffon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The most random of random stories. I apologize for nothing. It's been a few months since the incident with the jet pack and Red Mist's anger has only grown. Short one-shot about head injuries, resentment, and wrathful thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Symptoms of a Concussion Include....

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short character study of Chris and his confused anger that we love so much. Which sounds very profound, but it's actually based upon a bizarre dream which actually...works to my advantage considering this is a stream-of-conscious fic involving a head injury. So there's that.  
> Written several years ago for the first movie.

I'll get him back. I'll get him back for this. He thinks he can just waltz into my life and destroy EVERYTHING? No, that fucker is going to pay. Him and that little purple bitch, too. Wandering aimlessly again. Treading through aisles upon aisles of cottons and denims, the racks of clothes on either side like a strange endless maze. No, not aimlessly. With a purpose. At least...it had started with a purpose. Never mind the fact that he kept forgetting that purpose every ten seconds. There was too much on his mind to keep track. Too much hate bubbling out in his brain like an overfilled washing machine brimming with an extra-abundance of detergent, soap pouring out the top and running over cold laundry room tile. Sometimes, you can't keep it all in your head. All the anger and confusion and hurt and resentment. Something's got to give.

  
He kept his head down as he walked. Anything to keep from having to look at the fucking vacant stares of all the cow-people that shared his space. They're all just goddamned cows. They think they're important because they have credit cards and social security numbers, and play fucking Scrabble on the weekends, but when it comes right down to it all they're really doing is wasting their time. Chewing their cud. My dad could have taken every last one of them out and they never would have even knew what hit them.  
Dad. The word reverberated in his head like a pinball in a machine, hitting nerves like pinball toggles and racking up points on the misery score. He felt his anger grow in multitudes again and with a hard shove, he pushed one of the clothes racks out of his way. The t-shaped apparatus tipped, and fell sideways into a large circular rack behind it, green and black shirts swinging from their hangers or falling to the floor. Across the way, a wide-eyed woman pulled her small child close to her side, startled by the act. He glared at her as he continued walking, feelings of contempt adding to the already crowded pot of emotions in his head.

  
I'll smash you all. Just wait. You'll all fear me soon enough. But first, I'm gonna smash him. Or maybe her. Don't know which one to choose first. Maybe I'll capture both of them and shoot them in front of each other. Starting with something non-fatal like the kneecaps, and then just using up my bullets slowly. Seeing how many shots I can get in each one before they die. Hurt them like they hurt me. Then they'll see they shouldn't have fucked with me! They'll see!

  
He stopped in front of a dressing room area, large letters inviting women to try on their clothes before purchase. One single mirror marked the entryway into the back, where several stalls were hidden away. A desk sat out front of the area, unattended. Staring at his reflection, Chris hardly recognized himself. The face that gazed back wore a blank expression, contrary to the dozens of moods playing war in his head. He didn't know what he expected to see, but it wasn't this empty facade that stared back at him.

  
The front of his hair hung down into his face, chops of red dye staining several areas. In the last few months since his father had died he had been growing it out, hacking off the back himself but leaving the front. Becoming Red Mist instead of Chris, or at least something resembling the villain. This new persona was different somehow. It would need a new name...but that would come later. For now, this would have to do. Homemade haircut and home-done hair dye. It looked sloppy, but there was still time to make it better. Make himself better.

  
Dying his hair hadn't been easy, not only had he also managed to dye portions of his neck and his hands, but when rinsing it out in the sink he had somehow thrust his head up into the spout and whacked the fuck out of the back of his skull. He thought he had even blacked out for a few seconds, but it was hard to remember.

  
The black shirt and navy blue jeans hung off him as if they were several sizes too large. Maybe now, they were. The dark circles under his eyes and shadows traced underneath his cheekbones didn't help make him look any healthier. He looked like a pale, frightened kid lost in a crowded store. His eyebrows narrowed and he scowled at the reflection, giving it the finger. Fuck you, Chris. You need to pull yourself together. How are you supposed to get revenge if you can't even take care of yourself? "Fuck this shit," he said after a long pause. "What the hell was I here for again?"

  
Stepping away from the dressing room entryway, he stumbled back out into the aisles. Back into the field, with the cows. Various faces peered up at him as he went, curious looks following him when they thought he wasn't looking. He kept his face forward and down as he went, keeping homicidal thoughts to himself.

  
The endless racks of clothes were beginning to infuriate him. How long had he been here? It felt like hours. It seemed as if he were stuck in some sort of hell, wandering the same circle again and again and again but never actually reaching his destination. He stopped for a moment and put a hand up to his face, closing his eyes in frustration. The aggravation was making him dizzy. He stood there for what seemed like several minutes before he heard a voice, coming from out of the void.

  
When he opened them again, it felt as if they had been closed for much longer. The florescent lights were burning his eyes. "What?!" he spit out angrily to the form in front of him.  
The form, a petite girl with mid length brown hair, looked embarrassed for a split second before speaking. "I just wanted to know if you needed help finding anything?" she asked, quickly regretting her decision to talk to this customer.

  
Chris hated her. Hated the way she spoke and the tone of her voice and, most of all, the fact that she couldn't just leave him alone. And holy shit, was it possible that his anger was now actually causing him to see stars? Little flecks of light were now dancing in his field of vision, vestiges of anger no doubt. Taking a deep breath, he used all of the skills he had been taught to behave professionally in public. "I was just....um..." he stopped, his mind going blank. God, he hated the way that these animals wouldn't just leave people alone. Had to always be meddling in his business. Getting in the way. Especially those two. Kick Ass and Hit Girl. The ultimate meddlers. Why couldn't they just mind their own fucking business?

  
"Are you ok?" She was talking again. Better make her go away.

  
"The...the...men's area. I'm looking for that."

  
Happy to finally get out of the conversation, the brunette pointed toward the left. "Just over there, you're not too far away."

  
Chris managed to utter an ungrateful thanks before treading in that direction, just as happy as she had been to end the pointless banter. At least he knew where he was going now. Was this where I was going? I can't even remember. God, what the hell is wrong with me? Those two have got me so fucking angry, I can't even function! He moved forward, practically tripping over his feet in an effort to get away. The clothes around him were beginning to blur again, shifting around and around as if he were in a washing machine instead of the department store in a mall. I need to get out of here, into someplace quieter.

  
Having finally reached the men's section, he randomly grabbed a shirt from off the rack and staggered to the men's dressing area. How he was able to find it so quickly, he didn't know, but at least he was in a place he could get away from the public for awhile, from the cows. This dressing area was also unattended. He marched right past the empty desk back into the labyrinth that housed the smaller cubicles. Sliding a hand across the walls as he went, he felt the sudden urge to fall over. Claustrophobia from all the people outside. Almost there. He reached the first dressing room and practically dived into it, clumsily hitting his arm on the side as he went. He slammed the door behind him, forgetting about the lock.

  
Sitting on the short blue industrial-type carpet, he took several deep breaths. The lightheadedness was becoming unbearable. Room still spinning, he placed an arm on the floor to steady himself. This is just a setback. All my emotions coming to the forefront. I need them if I'm gonna go after them, but I have to control them. Have to pull it together.

  
He looked at himself in the mirror, face still pale and hair still messy. The red streaks were haphazard across his hair, almost looked like blood. He thought again of the last dye job, just a couple hours before he had arrived at the mall. His head still hurt badly from the accident with the sink spout. He put his free hand on the back of his head, grimacing at the contact.

  
Think, Chris. Calm down. Just do what you came here to do, and then you can leave and start plotting their deaths. Putting the plan in motion...but what am I doing here again? Once again, he couldn't for the life of him remember why, of all places, he had decided to come to the mall. He could barely even remember driving here. You're really losing it. Look what they've done to you!

  
The stars were back again, floating in between him and his reflection. Mocking him. It seemed that whenever his fingers moved over the tender spot on the back of his head the stars got brighter. I'm gonna get them back. The next time they see me, they'll....why is my head wet? He pulled his hand away just in time to see it enveloped in a red substance. Hair dye? No, it's...oh, fuck. The lights got really bright, and then really dark, and the boy with aspirations of becoming a super villain fell backward onto the short blue carpet, out cold.


End file.
